Different Kinds Of Good
by captainofyourship
Summary: Jake has never gotten over his broken heart, and when he gets the chance to go to England he takes it, to be as far from Bella as possible. He's looking for distractions, but he doesn't know quite what to make of things when he meets Georgie. Jake, OC


This story features Jacob Black and an OC, for all you readers out there who didn't like to think of him ending up with a weirdly named baby he can boink when she's SEVEN. This story is AH.

Recognizable characters and placenames from the Twi-world property of SM.

I wrote this for a Sort Of Beautiful challenge a while ago.

**Different Kinds of Good**

I had thought I was never going to get over Bella. When the girl you believe is the love of your life marries someone else, it's a kick in the guts you're not going to get up and walk away from.

She had told me only months earlier that she had envisaged a life with me - a home together, kids, old age, the works. This guy that she chose can't give her children, and even knowing that, it was him that she picked.

I ran away before the wedding, although I came back on the actual day just to see if she'd change her mind. She didn't, and the smug bastard paraded her around like his trophy, rubbing my face in it. He knew all about me, and he wanted to make sure I got it loud and clear: She. Picked. Him. I was ready to punch him, but my friends came and took me by the arms, holding me off so I couldn't rearrange his features, and render him unfit for duty on his honeymoon as well.

I ran away again after the wedding. I'd had no interest in university before, but I had to do something, and I found out about a course in anthropology at Washington University offering full scholarships to Native Americans. Since Bella was planning to attend Dartmouth over in New Hampshire on the other side of the country, I figured I'd stay right where I was, to be as far away from her as possible. I enrolled in UW and prepared to get busy.

And that's exactly what I did.

At first I had thought I would struggle with academic life, but I took to it more easily than I had expected to, and all the while I had a goal in mind.

Where I was from, not many people left. It was a good place to live, and a good community where people took care of one another. It seemed the outside world didn't have much impact on us, or much relevance for us. My father, and some of the other elders used to say that the youngsters needed to be more educated, so that if outside ever tried to encroach we would be prepared and equipped to deal with it. My dad was the chief, and had led us all for years with his quiet dignity and wisdom and things had been fine, but he and I both figured if the government ever tried anything fancy, like claiming land, or any sorts of interventions, we'd need someone to speak for us. We'd need someone highly educated and articulate, but someone with a red heart who knew the land and knew the people. So I was learning about ethnobiology, land rights and cultural preservation, knowing that I'd be a force to be reckoned with.

All this was well and good though, but every time I rode that road into the city on my motorbike it was the the road I'd ridden with Bella and it was the city I'd been to with Bella. Even though she wasn't there I saw her ghost everywhere.

A couple of years went by, and a couple of girls went by too. They both had long dark hair, and dark eyes and they were slight and small. I honestly wanted to fall in love, and I honestly tried but I was kidding myself and kidding them, and both times I broke it off, knowing my heart had never really been in it.

When I was given the opportunity to go to London for six months and do a couple of my papers there, I couldn't pass it up. Billy, my dad understood, although he didn't want to see me go. I knew I was going to feel like Pocahontas over in England, but I didn't care. Anything to get out of Washington.

London was grimy, grey and overcrowded. No wonder the pilgrims left to look for America!

I was treated like the proverbial noble savage in that a lot of people were condescending, and a lot of people acted like they'd never seen anyone like me before. To be fair, they probably hadn't. I'm six-seven, so I'm huge, and I wear my hair long, because Bella liked it that way. The people who were stupid enough to treat me as though I was dumb soon realized that I wasn't.

I found a dingy little apartment on the top floor of a Victorian conversion - a three storey house divided into three dwellings - and I had to get a job to cover the rent as my scholarship only stretched to actual studying expenses, like textbooks and stationery. London was so expensive I was shocked. I eat a lot, and the cost of food was killing me, not to mention the claustrophobia. Without a word of a lie, I'd step out the front door and be the only person on the street, and within thirty seconds there'd be someone ahead of me and someone behind, and within minutes I'd be in the midst of a crowd.

I missed the space and quiet I was surrounded by on the rez at home and I yearned for it. There was a park up the road a couple of blocks, and when the weather allowed it I did all my reading there, when I wasn't working or sleeping. It was mostly grass with a few trees, not like the dense woods around my stomping ground of La Push, but it was green, and that counted for a lot.

My job was as a night porter in the hospital on the other side of the park. I worked different shifts, always at night. Six till two, eight till four, ten till six. I didn't mind really, as it worked out okay with attending college and having study time. A few people asked me to bars and parties and clubs, and I did that on my nights off, and I got into a bit of a routine.

Celibacy sucked, though. It was lonely. I liked girls and I was meeting a few nice ones, but maybe Bella had just ruined me for anyone else. Probably the only thing lonelier than sleeping by myself night after night would be sleeping with someone I didn't love, and I just wasn't the sort of guy who could do that. I took a lot of cold showers, and sometimes I mechanically performed the other activity you can do to get rid of erections, and I felt prepared for the priesthood, except without belonging to a church.

Then one morning I'd only been asleep a couple of hours when I was woken by the sound of a dog. Not a real dog - it was too shrill, and sounded like one of those micro joke-dogs that can only yap because they can't muster a bark. Wherever it was, it was far too close to me, and it had interrupted my sleep. I really like my sleep, and that little animal was going to pay.

The noise was floating up from the downstairs flat, on the ground floor. I threw on a pair of jeans and took the stairs two at a time.

A few moments later the door opened, and the sight that met my eyes made me think I was still asleep and dreaming. There was a girl standing there wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around herself, and she was clutching it together over her breasts. We stared dumbfounded at one another until at ankle height a small hairy thing rushed past and she bent, reaching helplessly for it with both hands. The towel fell off.

I tried to do the gentlemanly thing and not look at her, I really did, but she was naked!

Her cheeks were scarlet, I saw as soon as I could wrench my gaze back to her face, but by then I'd already seen that she was generously proportioned with a rounded belly and luscious hips and breasts I could forget my loneliness in, if she would ever let me, and if I would ever let myself. Her glance swept me too, reminding me I hadn't put a shirt on.

Our eyes locked back together again for a frozen second, until she whispered, "Misty," and I remembered the stupid animal.

The front door was shut, so it couldn't run out onto the road, but the door to my apartment was open, and the dog had obviously scampered upstairs. The girl snatched up her towel and wrapped it around herself again, pushing past me, and calling, "Misty, Misty, come here! Oh bugger, he's gone into someone's flat!"

"It's _my_ flat," I said from behind her, grateful that her towel was one of those huge things, not a little skimpy one, because if I got to see any more of her than I already had I would suffer priapism for days. I probably would anyway.

On the top landing I eased past her trying not to come into contact, which was difficult in the narrow stairwell given that neither of us were skinny, and was just in time to see the revolting undersized canine pissing on my carpet.

I was appalled, and was ready and willing to pick the pretend mutt up and throw it out the window, and I turned to look accusingly at her.

"Misty isn't toilet-trained," I said to her.

"I'm so sorry, I'll clean it up, of course. Have you got a cloth?" she asked, but from the way her lips were twitching I could see she was fighting off a grin. She didn't look sorry at all, she looked like she thought it was funny. Standing there in nothing but a towel in front of a total stranger, in an extremely vulnerable position, she had the nerve to break into a laugh.

"Look, I'll get my own cloth. You look too horrified. You don't want doggie wee-wee on any of your pristine manchester," she said, and she walked in and scooped up the offending animal, adding on her way through my door, "I'll be back in two tics."

I stood there stunned by the realization that I had just had a half-naked girl in my apartment and she said she'd come back, and there was a pathetic, annoying, yappy dog living downstairs with the girl, and the girl was pretty, no - gorgeous, and she'd laughed at me. If I hadn't been still mentally reeling from the sight of her naked, I'd have laughed too.

I'd put a t-shirt on by the time she got back, and she was in jeans and a t-shirt. I wouldn't let myself be crass enough to stare at the way her ass filled those jeans out until she got on her knees and scrubbed at my carpet, and then I could look all I liked, since she couldn't see me do it. God, she was a sight for starved eyes.

"I'm Georgina - Georgie," she said over her shoulder. "I just moved in, sorry about Misty, I only got him last night. You're right, he's not toilet-trained yet, but he's going to be a great guard dog, isn't he?"

I know I looked dubious. As she straightened up she said, "Misty is short for Mister Mighty. Wait till he's fully grown - he'll be so terrifying nobody will dare break in, and you'll be able to sleep soundly in your bed. He's practically a wolf as it is."

"He's practically a squirrel," I snorted.

"What are you talking about?" she grinned. "Squirrels are little and have fluffy tails and big soft eyes. Nothing like Misty."

That was exactly like Misty. My enforced celibacy very suddenly looked more unbearable, as not only was her body a devil's playground, she had a sense of humor, and I found funny women very sexy.

"You could tell me your name, round about now," she added, looking expectant.

"Jacob Black," I said, extending a hand. She was tall, she must have been five-ten or eleven. I towered over most girls, and it was nice to meet one who was by no means tiny.

"Jacob Black. That's nice. I'm pleased to meet you," she said, with a very direct gaze.

"Uh, Georgie, I'm a shift worker, and I'd normally be asleep now. Are you going to be able to teach Mister Mighty not to be so noisy?" I asked as she moved to the door.

"Probably," she said hesitantly. "He's just a baby. I'll take him to puppy school."

I didn't have the heart to point out that pets weren't allowed in the building, according to my rental agreement.

"Ok, well, thanks. I'll see you later," I said, knowing there would be no point going back to bed. If I shut my eyes I would see her soft pink skin, her pinker nipples, and the smoky-brown pubic hair that gave the lie to the red hair on her head. I'd never given much thought to the sort of girls I preferred other than to think I liked them natural. Georgie's hair was obviously dyed, but she wouldn't be any less beautiful if it was purple.

I paced for a while, and sat and tried to read, and then brainlessly watched tv until I decided to go to the laundromat. As I opened my door I saw there was a post-it note on the opposite wall with an arrow pointing down. On the floor at my feet was a tiny gift bag, and sitting in it was a chocolate covered strawberry. There was another little note on the bag, saying "Sorry about your floor, and the yapping. I'll wire his muzzle shut."

I would rather have seen Misty's death certificate to be honest, and I'm not into either fruit or chocolate, but I had to grin, as I ate the strawberry in one mouthful. I paused at Georgie's door on the way out - but really, what would I say if I knocked? Don't open your door to strangers? Especially if you're not dressed?

I went out without knocking.

A couple of nights later I was at work when I heard a voice I recognized around a corner in the corridor, although it was probably the last voice I expected to hear in my workplace. It was a woman's voice, saying firmly and yet gently "Mr Newton, hands off. You know that's disrespectful."

It was Georgie's voice. I shot forward and around the corner, and my heart stopped. I have never understood the appeal of clothing fetishes, the idea of dressing someone up and finding it sexy, but there in front of me was my neighbor Georgina, in a nurse's uniform. God in hell. It was stretched across her wondrous breasts, which had occupied my thoughts for days now, and across those splendid hips. I had to gather myself for a minute and remember I was somewhere public, and much as I might want to relish the fantasy of pushing that uniform up just high enough to allow her legs to spread around me and then dive between them, I was at work. So, apparently, was she.

"You're a nurse?" I asked stupidly. Good one, Jacob.

"No, I'm a private detective, but I'm under cover, so please pretend you don't know me," she answered with a smirk, and went back to swatting the wandering hands of the old man in the wheelchair in front of her. She was trying to adjust his drip, he was trying to grope her.

"Sir, if you assault the nurses we will have to withdraw privileges," I growled at him, having no idea whether sick old men got any privileges in English hospitals, but I wanted to say something.

Georgie smirked more. "Indeed. We'll take away your happy pills, Michael," she said, and he shrugged resignedly at her and put his hands in his lap.

"I didn't know you worked here!" I exclaimed to her.

"I didn't know you did," she said back.

"What happens to White Fang while you're at work?" I asked.

"He patrols the castle grounds," she said. "Nobody can get into your bathroom and kidnap your rubber ducky."

Her red hair was scraped back, revealing the line of her brows and the luxuriant curve of her cheekbones. I had to look away. "Well, that's a good thing," I answered. "My rubber ducky is trained to kill, but if your wolf keeps criminals out that will prevent murder-by-duck."

She smiled at me and I accompanied her with Mr Happy back to the geriatric ward. It turned out she was finishing in an hour.

"How do you get home?" I asked her.

"Well, I ride a camel," she replied.

"Seriously," I said.

"What do you think, Yankee? I walk across the park."

"At two in the morning?"

"I'm hardly going to call a mini cab, am I? It would be a fiver to go by road!"

"I'm walking you home," I said firmly.

"You and whose army?" she answered.

"The army of me," I told her.

"God, Jacob, I am perfectly capable of walking for a few hundred yards across a park without needing a knight in shining armor in case a night-walking goose trips me up," she said, sounding and looking annoyed.

"It's not geese I'm worried about, Georgie," I said, and that was that.

She had split shifts, they were all over the place, but whenever she finished late I walked her home. I told the head nurse, and I told my supervisor, and every time Georgie was on nights I took the ten minutes to walk to our place with her and then come back.

"It's really not necessary, I've been doing this for a couple of years now," she protested at first, but after that she didn't protest any more. Sometimes we chatted, sometimes we didn't. I told her a little about myself, and she told me a little, and you'd be amazed what you can learn about someone from five minute conversations on a nightly basis that pick up where they left off the night before. She was very confident, passionate about her work, and I began to know that she threw herself into whatever she did with equal fervor.

"I love drinking," she said. "I mean, I _love_ drinking. And parties, and snogging and shagging. They say a little bit of what you fancy does you good, right? I reckon a whole lot of it does you even better. I'm going to write a book called Drinking and Snogging and Shagging if I can stop drinking and snogging and shagging long enough to get around to it. I'll snog you if you like. How about now?"

I swallowed so hard I nearly swallowed my own tongue.

"I have to go back to work," I said, before I could take her up on it.

"Just a quick one, then. Come on, let's swap germs."

I knew snogging was English for kissing. And I knew what shagging meant, too. If she offered to shag me I'd hardly be able to stop myself from throwing her against a tree and doing it. But I shook my head.

"No? I shouldn't have said the germ thing. Don't worry about it - I'm a nurse. I can get drugs for anything."

"No drugs. Look, let's just keep things friendly, huh?" I said. We were at the front door, but she wasn't looking for her keys.

"Kissing _is_ friendly, you duffer. But I can take rejection. I'm going to go and kiss Misty for my sins, and you can go and push sick people around on trolleys. Cheerio."

It took a lot of self-control to leave her there and turn around. The nurse's uniform had been featuring nightly in my dreams and daily in my showers alongside naked Georgie, and Georgie-in-a-towel, and Georgina - Georgie in any state at all, but I knew I had to keep a neighborly, and professional, distance.

"Jacob," she began another night. "I never hear you taking girls upstairs. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Not at the moment," I admit.

"Why not?" she asked. "You must realise you've caused a knicker-dropping epidemic at the hospital. Everyone who's compos mentis wants you. And, I know you're not gay, so what's the obstacle?"

I have to ask her. "How do you know I'm not gay?"

"Gay men touch me, sweetie darling. You don't. Ergo - you're straight."

"Well, I'm leaving in a couple of months to go back to the States. It would hardly be a good idea to get a girlfriend," I said.

"Okay, so not Ms Right - what about just fun?" Georgie asked.

"I'm not really interested in just fun for a few weeks, and then having to leave someone behind," I said.

"Oh, a man of depth!" she smiled. "You're after commitment, and true love!"

We were halfway across the park, walking alongside the tennis courts, which I suddenly found very interesting. I found them extremely interesting every time Georgie brought up something that made me feel awkward and I didn't want to look at her in case she saw what was going on in my eyes. This was happening most nights, and I knew those tennis courts well enough to see them with my eyes closed.

"Yes, I am, Georgie, corny as it may sound," I told her. We were nearly at our street, and I would be saying goodnight in less than a minute. These conversations with her were wearing, to say the least. I suspected they were damaging my psyche.

"Why don't you live a little? I could be your girlfriend for eight weeks," she said, dropping that bombshell as casually as though she were inviting me for coffee.

"Ah, n-no," I stuttered.

"Why not?"

"You're my neighbor!"

"Well, that makes things easy, doesn't it? You don't have to call me a cab after we've finished the business!"

"Jesus, Georgie, I would never do that," I said.

"Well, Jesus, Jacob, what _would_ you do?" she asked.

We were at the door. I had to go back to the hospital. She stood looking at me, and I stood looking at her. I wasn't in love with her, but I was growing to want her so much it was alarming me. I had thought I was liked small girls I would have to look after, and Georgie could probably knock over a bear. I thought I was attracted to natural girls, and her hair was as fake as you can get. I thought I went for quietish girls, and she was so loud I sometimes heard her laughing down three flights of stairs, and wailing at her stupid dog. And she was such an urban type, and I was craving the woods and the rez, and the small-town feel of Forks, in Washington, where I was from. And she was English, and I was American. I was going to crack if she kept up the flirting, though. Half of me wanted her to stop, and half of me wanted to launch myself at her. I had to protect my heart.

"Goodnight, Georgie," I said firmly. "Sleep well."

"Sweet dreams to you, too," she called after me.

Yeah, right.

Then a couple of days later, on a weekend, something happened. I heard Georgie scream.

I raced downstairs, ready to smash her door down, and she came at my frantic knock.

"Jacob! Help!" she wailed, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me behind her. She dragged me to the back of her flat, to the bathroom, and I heard screeching before we even got there. There was a rat in her bath, running round and round, scrabbling, trying to run up the sides of the bath, and squealing even more than Georgie was. I didn't know which of them was the more frightened. Mister Mighty was running round in circles making an ungodly racket, too. Chucking him down the toilet would have helped matters considerably.

"Georgie, shut up!" I yelled at her. "Have you got a bucket?"

"Are you going to be sick?" she asked, gesturing towards the toilet.

"No, we'll put it over the rat and slip cardboard underneath and we'll have caught it. Then we can take it to the park and release it," I said.

"You want to carry a rat in a bucket to the park?" she yelped. This was while the rodent was squeaking and attempting to climb its way out, its nasty little claws scratching away as it skidded and slid and fell repeatedly. Every time it slid down the curve of the bath's interior it picked itself up again and threw itself frantically against the smooth walls, its feet unable to gain purchase upon the smooth surface. God knows how it got in there, but it wasn't going to get out without help. And it was going to keep trying until it collapsed from exhaustion.

"We can't just stand here - get the bucket!" I insisted. The rat was suffering. I had no idea how long rats lived, but if it was two or three years the amount of terror this rat was experiencing in a matter of minutes would equate to weeks for a human.

Georgie was back with a bucket and some cardboard from somewhere, and I did the deed, wincing as I heard the scurrying and the squealing, which didn't abate. I held the bucket right-way-up, cardboard on top.

"Have you got packing tape or something to hold this cardboard steady? I asked her. I could feel the bumping impacts of the rodent's head as it jumped up. We secured it as best we could in a very makeshift arrangement, but it only needed to last for a few minutes, until we could release Mr Rat into the bosom of mother earth.

Georgie shut Mister Mighty into her bedroom, yelping, and we headed to the park.

"God, I got the fright of my bloody life then, thank God you were home, Jake, I don't know what I would have done - I wouldn't have thought of that trapping trick," Georgie said.

At the park we found a cluster of bushes and I gingerly took the tape away from the lip of the bucket. Georgie watched from a distance and was no help at all. I tipped the bucket and watched Rattie disappear into the undergrowth, and Georgie came up to me then and kissed my cheek.

"You're just like St Francis," she smiles. "And we've restored the balance of nature. Shall we go to the pub? Rodent-wrangling has given me a powerful thirst."

"I don't have any money. I haven't got my wallet," I said.

"Oh, my shout. It's the least I can do. That little bugger could have murdered me in my bed," she exclaimed. "They gnaw through your cheeks, you know, to get to your tongue. Gross."

"Misty would have saved you," I assured her.

"Oh, Misty, he sleeps like a bloody log, dreaming of curly little girl-poodles. I've had to revise my assessment of him as having an inner rottweiler. He'd be no good in a life-threatening situation at all," she grinned.

There was a bar nearby, and we got beers and sat outside.

"Do you want to come to my flat when we get home?" she asked.

"Because of the rat infestation?" I asked her.

"No," she said. I dared a look, and this was really the first time I'd seen her properly in the light of day. Her eyes were a clear, light grey color. Not brown, like Bella's. Her hair was crazy, artificial red, and cut short. Not brown, and long, like Bella's. Georgie was tall, and big with it. My hands wouldn't go anywhere near to fitting around her waist. Her breasts were so large they would spill out of my palms. I had thought Bella was my ideal woman and Georgie couldn't have been more different from her, but I was starting to think Georgie had been made for me.

"Why do you think?" she asked.

She actually got up then, and sat on my legs. She weighed a lot, in a very, very good way. She wriggled, and I got a semi. I had a flash of her lying on top of me, her weight pinning me down, and my semi went total.

"Georgie, please, I don't know if this is a very good idea," I said.

She wriggled some more, and my dick thought it was a very good idea, but my brain was still holding out. My hand had no such restraint, and moved to her hip.

"Oh, I think it's a _great_ idea!" she said. "Let's vote. Whoever says yes wins."

We were only on our first beer, so it couldn't have been the drink talking, and anyway, she'd said stuff like this before.

"Look, we're at the beginning of a friendship. I don't want it to go wrong," I said helplessly, my other hand on her now too.

"Oh, come on. What friendship? Yes, we are, but you're going soon. Let's not waste time. I like you, you like me. You're a boy and I'm a girl. We're both quite clear on that, because of the towel episode," she said. "You know, you're sort of beautiful. You're sort of kissable. You're definitely lickable."

My breath caught in a slight gasp that I tried to turn into a cough. I wanted to lick _her_ from head to toe and back again, but I shook my head.

"What is it? You don't like me?" she said.

"Oh, God, Georgie, that's the obstacle. I _do_ like you," I answered.

She gave a laugh that was a little like a snort. "You don't want to sleep with me because you like me? Does that mean you only sleep with people you don't like?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, I'm not going to get weird afterwards if that's what you're worried about, I assure you. Or maybe you're going to get weird. Do you get weird?"

She had her hand on my chest then, it was warm and it felt very good. She curled her other hand underneath my hair, and she was so close and compelling and delicious I stopped fighting my attraction to her, and leaned in for the kiss she was offering without letting myself think of all the reasons I shouldn't. I was lost immediately. She slipped her tongue into me, tasting of beer, and she licked inside my mouth with a soft moan, bringing both hands up to my hair and holding my head captive. She didn't need to, I was already her prisoner.

"Georgie, I should get home. So should you. What about Misty?" I muttered, breaking off the kiss and gently pushing her off my knees, standing her up with my hands still on her hips. I knew I wouldn't have the strength to hold out much longer, and I'd already experienced one broken heart in my life. Getting involved with Georgie wouldn't be a fling for me - it would lead to broken heart number two since we lived an ocean and a continent apart, and my spiritual and soon-to-be geographical home was back in La Push. She was on a trajectory - I knew she was exceptionally good at her job, and there would be promotions and pay rises. There was no way we could be together. God, I liked her, was even beginning to love her, and I couldn't be casual about it, and the depth of it wasn't mutual.

We left our drinks at the table and went home, and she was quiet, and so was I. She must have felt that I'd turned her down, and I felt like I wasn't the red-blooded male she wanted, wasn't man enough, although I knew that I certainly could be - it was just that I didn't want to be that man for a few weeks and then get on a plane and zoom away leaving her behind.

We stopped at her door. "Jake?" she whispered.

"I'll see you later," I whispered back to her. It was a wrench, and I knew she was disappointed, and so was I, but I went upstairs anyway, feeling the world's biggest wuss.

For about three useless hours I tried to read, tried to answer emails, tried to watch the television, and successfully ate half a loaf of bread with tunafish, cheese and avocado. By ten, there was no way I could go to bed. I'd done dishes, I'd even dusted, for the first time ever. There was one stray beer in my fridge and I drank it. There was one apple there too and I ate it and then stared at nothing until I couldn't take it any more. I got my phone out and texted Georgie, promising myself if there was no response I'd leave it at that, I'd just shut up, I'd just fucking shut up.

"Are you awake?" my message said.

The reply came in seconds. "Yes I am, Jakey-boy, and I'm waiting for you."

It was wrong. She was my neighbor. It was_ so_ wrong. She was my friend. I took the stairs, fast.

Her door was unlocked, and I went through, shutting it behind me. That girl wasn't even waiting for me in the hall or the living room. I looked for her, and then went to the bedroom, and she was in the bed, sheets pulled up around her chest. There were no straps showing over her shoulders. She not only wasn't wearing a top, she wasn't wearing a bra. She couldn't have been more inviting.

Actually, she could. She held her arms out, and the sheet fell away. I was arrested at the sight. Her mouth was open, her breasts were heavy, and her hands were reaching for me. I knew I loved her then, for the look in her eyes. I already knew she was honest, and funny and smart and tough. She was also tender and generous. Her hands clasped around my back and her lips fastened to mine as she tilted her head to welcome me, and she pulled me down, shifting her body to accommodate me. I didn't have to worry I would break her, or overwhelm her. Even though I had wanted this for weeks, she was the initiator, she marked me with her mouth and she showed me how she wanted to kiss, and how she wanted to touch, and she was incredible. My doubts evaporated as she held me, and she produced a condom and rolled it down expertly, she guided me and held me by the hips, indicating exactly what she wanted. Nothing had ever felt so right to me in my whole life. My climax almost sent me into orbit, but I knew she hadn't come, and I reached for her afterwards. She stopped me, whispering, "It doesn't always happen the first time with someone new. It's okay, baby. There are different kinds of good. Why didn't we do this weeks ago?"

We woke in the morning still entwined, and she kissed me hello. It was blissful. We got another condom, and I came explosively, although she still didn't.

"Lick me," she murmured, a hand at her breast offering it to me, and I encircled her aureole with my tongue before fastening my lips around her nipple. Taking the lead again, she shoved me onto my back and wrapped me in another condom before lowering herself onto me. In exquisite indecision, I didn't know whether to grasp her thighs or ass or her hips or her waist or her breasts, or cup her beautiful face as I kissed her. I tried them all and her ocean eyes stared into me and her rawness stirred me and I was owned. I couldn't imagine I'd ever feel like this about anybody ever again. Maybe there were different kinds of good, but Georgie felt like all of them. Above me, she flung her head back and circled her hips, pressing down hard. What she was doing to me would ordinarily have finished me in minutes, but since I'd already climaxed twice within a few hours I could hold out, and I did hold out.

Her hips never lost the beat as she ground backwards and forwards, until she suddenly bent and had us belly-to-belly, chest-to-chest, breathing my name into my mouth as her pelvis jack-knifed into me. Jesus, I felt her clenching around me, and at her third contraction and its accompanying moan I lost myself.

"Jake, Jake, Jake," she whispered afterwards, and I wondered how the hell I was going to go home to America, when all of a sudden home felt like Georgie's arms.

Eight weeks later, she came to the airport with me. I'd passed my papers with distinctions, and Georgie was even prouder of me than I was of myself. We'd spent every day and night together that we could, and I felt like we were joined at the hip, not to mention the heart. I had fallen hard. I'd already started to come apart that day we had first kissed, perhaps even before then. I was a wreck, but I was trying not to be. She'd never asked me to stay, and I hadn't dared even think of asking her to come with me. Georgie on the rez? With her crazy hair, and how much of an urbanite she was, and her mad English accent? I just couldn't picture it.

She cried as I held her, and I whispered into her hair and cheek, and kissed her one last, lingering time, and then I had to go through that door and back to my other life, my other world, my other home, although nothing now would be as it had been before. Goodbye Georgie, goodbye heart.


End file.
